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Photo by David Stewart/

Memories are a strange thing… The scent of the lily of the valley can be rather special, even when plants hidden behind a dark millstone grit wall. A wall that front a row of back to back terraced houses. Within a single ground floor room, the kitchen sink is hidden behind a cupboard. Rugs made out of hessian and strips of old clothes, front a open fire place. In a draw, a new baby nestles. Whiles my grandma cooks, we the parents climb a steep sided hill, to inspect the now abandoned cave houses. Where I remember once taking a bowl of broth.

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